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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24333379">Just to Adore You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattrainssailed/pseuds/thattrainssailed'>thattrainssailed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brief mention of Short Martin rights, Falling In Love, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Set post-159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:28:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24333379</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattrainssailed/pseuds/thattrainssailed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If Jon reaches, he can Know the moment he started loving Martin Blackwood.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Just to Adore You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If Jon reaches, he can Know the moment he started loving Martin Blackwood. That is, the exact second his brain chemistry shifted to produce the amount of Phenylethylamine commonly regarded as being significant of a person being in love. The catalyst itself was nothing particularly memorable. A short conversation in an aisle of the archives, Jon absently plucking through statements from May of 2000 as Martin recounted how one of the newly hired general researchers had asked him what it took to get a promotion to the archives. A dry smile had tugged at Martin’s lips, eyes crinkling ever so slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon watches the moment back through the Eye. It stirs emotion, certainly, but it’s not quite revelation. Nostalgia, perhaps; an ache for something left behind. It’s from before Great Yarmouth. Before the coma. Before Lukas removed crinkled smiles from the archives. In that way, there’s something to it, and Jon is rapidly losing the ability to think of any version of Martin Blackwood and not love him. It doesn’t feel right as The Moment, though. The Eye can read everything in a person’s head, but it cannot account for what things they hold more precious within it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was not a single moment when Jon started loving Martin Blackwood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If asked to identify one, he would begin with the coaster. Begin with, mind, because the coaster is just one instance of the hundreds that have drawn together into the simple fact that he is in love. The coaster came about two weeks after the tea. After first he had viewed the drinks as, at best, a nuisance, and at worst, a scheme to poison him. It wasn’t exactly Jon’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span> year. The initial cups he had left untouched, occasionally stirring a pen into the cooling liquid as though it must miraculously turn purple and reveal the assassination attempt. Then one day, scrawling notes over a transcript, looking for </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> connection between statements that had been stapled together and dropped down the back of a shelf, he absentmindedly reached for a drink. Finished the entire cup before he remembered its origin. Jon froze. Looked at the dregs pooled at the bottom. His heart sunk and, in his madness, he had wondered if that was the first sign of the poison taking hold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Funnily enough, he did not die.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t die, and the tea kept coming, and eventually Jon stopped glaring at the mugs before cautiously taking a sip, paying attention to any strange tastes or textures. They were never present. But just as he had begun to trust the tea, the betrayal had come. He set down his cup, flicked some shorthand over his notes, and lifted the tea back to his mouth. Something caught his eye. A ring. A brown ring staining the statement he next intended to read. For a moment, Jon considered sabotage. He was still staring at the wretched stain when Martin came in to collect his mug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon did not say anything, but the next time Martin softly knocked on the office door, there was a pale blue coaster beneath the steaming cup of tea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t actually realised, then, of course; too caught up in his own paranoia and investigation. His revelations regarding the Entities had left little room for any other sort of epiphany. It hadn’t been for several months longer that he had even felt the plunge in his stomach he would come to associate with his feelings for Martin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first time had been with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Melanie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, of all people. They sat across from each other at Georgie’s small dining table. Neither of them said anything for a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re not a murderer?” Melanie had broached.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not in this life, no,” Jon had replied, and the memory is almost painful. To remember a self that had not been so consumed by the monstrous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you’re hiding out like one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On account of being an </span>
  <em>
    <span>innocent</span>
  </em>
  <span> man </span>
  <em>
    <span>accused</span>
  </em>
  <span> of murder.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would you take a job at the Institute?” Jon asked. Melanie pursed her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, did I not come here because you need my help? Georgie didn’t tell me the intent of this visit was for you to criticise my choices.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, okay. It’s just- God, you made a shit choice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> aware.” Melanie crossed her arms. “Even without the whole magically-not-allowed-to-quit thing, the team is a mess.” Jon snorted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> your takeaway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it’s true! I highly doubt you’re the best manager anyway, but nowadays everyone just wanders about moving statements around, not really sure if there’s a point to doing it any more. Tim doesn’t even do that, he just fucks around on his laptop and occasionally knocks stuff off shelves. The cops keep coming in and out. Martin’s trying to act like everything’s fine but if anyone goes anywhere near your office he has a fit. Keeps saying you’ll be annoyed if your things have been moved when you come back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something in Jon’s chest… caught.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin believed Jon. Was sure it was only a matter of time until he returned. Was waiting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t done anything to deserve such loyalty, he was well aware, and yet something was blocking his throat, leaving only silent air when he opened his mouth. Melanie had frowned at him, and Jon had quickly cleared his throat and moved on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It stayed, though. The knowledge that Martin was defending him. It burrowed its way deep in Jon’s rib cage and clung on. Jon thinks it might still be there now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, of course, there was the jumper. Is the jumper</span>
  <span>—it’s presumably still tucked away beneath the pillow in Jon’s London flat. Part of him is embarrassed to think of it, but given the subsequent events regarding the Lonely, it’s really the </span>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <span> drastic response Jon had to the entire Peter Lukas situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had been in the tunnels, the group of them. Him, Basira, Daisy, Melanie, Tim, and of course, Martin. They huddled together around a floorplan of the House of Wax, a phone torch dimly but stubbornly illuminating the page as they variously pointed at it, their conversation knitting together a plan of attack. Basira was the best on logistics, with Melanie occasionally producing a question that made the other woman pause before answering. Tim was mostly silent, but once or twice he threw out violent suggestions that Daisy faintly nodded at in consideration. Martin stood back a little, clearly paying attention but declining to propose anything for the details of the assault. Jon didn’t blame him—his own inexperience in these matters was plain each time he made a suggestion and was quickly shot down. At some point during the discussion about detonators, Jon had felt himself shiver and abruptly realised just how freezing the tunnels were. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised. With all the urgency of figuring out their plan, he had neglected to put on anything thicker than his ragged cardigan, and the frigid surfaces of the stone walls were gradually calling attention to his mistake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently the error was more obvious than he first thought, because suddenly there was a light tap on his arm and Martin was handing him a jumper. Red and white stripes, pilling a little. His own hoodie rested unzipped around his shoulders, covering most of the dark green t-shirt that Jon definitely did not notice went very well with the ginger threads of his hair. When he didn’t immediately take the clothing, Martin pushed it insistently against Jon’s chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on. Can’t blow up an evil circus if you catch your death down here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a little ridiculous, really. Martin was a good few inches shorter than Jon, and while the assistant was certainly wider in his middle, the shoulders of the jumper stretched as Jon pulled it down over himself. Despite the size issue, though, the item was surprisingly warm, clearly made of good fabric. His goosebumps quickly settled, and Jon turned his attention back to the disagreement Basira and Daisy were having across the map. He pointedly did not think about the pine scent clinging to the jumper and how it was not his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon thinks of the memories. Tucks them back into his chest, safe among their kin; the hundreds of moments so precious to him. The chronology of how Jonathan Sims fell in love. It is the difference, he thinks, between Knowing and knowing. Individually, there is little to see. Strung together, they form something beloved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The collection is not finished. Jon does not Know it. But he knows.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's been a long while since I've written fic, so clearly the best time to start again is *checks notes* three weeks before my thesis is due.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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